


Two Brothers, Two Weddings, Two Partings

by lnhammer



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Couplets, Gen, Hexameters, Tragic chorus, Weddings, gratuitous Sappho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnhammer/pseuds/lnhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, they celebrated marriages. Later, their wives would mourn. In between, all Hector wants now is for Paris to leave Helen's chambers and return to the battle he started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Brothers, Two Weddings, Two Partings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myhappyface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhappyface/gifts).



####  I. 

They sang of Andromache's coming:

Hail the beautiful bride! Hail the shining bridegroom!  
Hail, they are brought together at last! Hail!  
Thus today we celebrate a marriage as once  
long ago Troy did of Priam's son of the shining helmet  
to Eëtion's slender-armed daugher, brought  
together in the halls of his father. There they waited,  
seated in robes of bright wool, the women wearing bracelets  
of copper from Cyprus, weaving their cloth,  
when the herald came and stood before them,  
Idaos, famous swift messenger, bringing these words:  
"Hail Priam, king of the Troad, known through the islands  
and the rest of Asia with a fame that's undying.  
Hector and his men are bringing a darting-eyed girl  
from holy Thebe and from the flowing fair Plakia --  
delicate Andromache, aboard their ships across  
the salt sea, and with her many gold bracelets,  
and scented purple clothes, and painted adornments,  
and silver cups past number, and ivory." -- Thus  
he spoke. His father at once rose up, and and word  
went to his friends throughout the wide town. The sons  
of Ilios led out the mules and harnessed them  
to fine-running carts, and up climbed a whole crowd  
of women and maidens with slender ankles on board,  
the daughters of Priam separately on another cart,  
while the young unmarried men led out the horses  
and harnessed them to their chariots, reined in great style.  
And the mule-drivers and charioteers set off  
in procession down to the harbor where the black-hulled  
ships were drawn on the beach like ants on the ground.  
There soldiers bearing broad shields and glittering  
spears of thick ash-wood, both beyond number,  
cried out in greeting, and there among them stood  
slender-armed Andromache in a bright robe  
with shining Hector beside her, strong as an oak,  
and all who saw them thought they were like unto gods,  
declaring them with loud voices all holy together.  
Thus they set out in carts and chariots for Ilios,  
and sweetflowing flute and kithara were mingled with the clip  
of castanets, and piercingly then the maidens  
sang a holy song and straight up the air went  
the amazing sound of their hymns to the gods,  
and everywhere in the roads were dancers passing  
among them the bowls and cups of wine and spices,  
myrrh and cassia and frankincense were mingled.  
And all the elder women shouted aloud  
and all the men cried out a lovely song,  
calling on Paeon Farshooting, god of the lyre,  
and they sang a hymn for Hector and Andromache  
like unto gods. So among us today, here in this house,  
this slender bridegroom, this bride with lovely eyes,  
now the marriage you long prayed for is accomplished:  
Aphrodite has honored you beyond all others. Hail! 

Thus they sang of the marriage of Hector.

####  II. 

They sang of Helen's coming:

Once, indeed, we welcomed her -- the one  
who so surpassed all human kind in beauty:  
    she stood beside bright Priam's son  
    with all of Sparta's wealth piled high  
        on either side, yet they  
        surpassed that gold in glory. 

That day, he was our favorite -- Paris brought  
this godlike woman here, to live among us:  
    he built a house by Priam's halls,  
    with roof raised higher than his brothers',  
        walls decorated richly  
        with prizes that he'd brought. 

Ai-ai! we loved him then! -- and too her beauty,  
which seemed a blessing from the mighty gods  
    upon the sons of Ilios.  
    As Helen sat within her hall,  
as Paris walked among us, glad of heart,  
their joy became our own in every way,  
    and with his scorn of Sparta's might  
    he taught us not to fear the strength  
        of those far-off Achaeans.  
        So once we welcomed her. 

Thus they sang of the marriage of Paris.

####  III. 

Hector stopped by the citadel well for a dipper of water -- despite what he'd told his mother, he was thirsty indeed. Battle did that. He was tempted to pour the full pot over his head, to cool his sweaty, flattened locks, but Helen's tongue would get sharp if he dripped in her chambers again. Instead he leaned against the wall and looked into the dark waters.

Why him? 

Hector sighed. He knew why. The Fates had made him King Priam's first son and heir. But why had they decreed that _he_ be the one to hold this mad-house together, he who was first at nothing else? Antenor and Aeneas were both better fighters, and the latter a better commander as well. Hellenus was wiser, Deiphobus more clever. And Alexandros had the charisma to outshine them all. Would that he had the strength to go with his good looks. 

If only Hector himself had enough strength. He pushed himself upright, leather armor creaking. "Father Zeus, protect me," he muttered as he strode across the courtyard to Alexandros's hall -- the one he'd built larger and richer than that of any of his brothers. 

A handmaid clad in fine linen greeted him at the door and showed him into the inner quarters -- where his brother was, apparently, hiding. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the women sitting at their tasks: to his left, spinning, weaving to the right. In the center, by the far wall, Helen discussed the cut of a tunic with a seamstress. Hector swallowed, struck once again by her fine golden hair and bright dark eyes, her graceful gestures. Even Andromache, much as he loved her, didn't have such movements. Dangerous woman. 

Hector looked away, and finally saw his brother -- seated on the spinners' side with his gilded armor on the floor about him. He was polishing the round shield with a scrap of unwashed wool. Polishing! After years of fighting, you'd think he'd learned that what mattered was whether it turned a sharp blade, not that it glittered. 

You also might think he would notice when a warrior was there. 

"Hector, welcome," Helen said in her honey voice. "Paris, your brother is here." 

Alexandros finally looked up at the nickname, and smiled. "Ah, Hector -- you must be here to scold me back to battle." He set shield aside and stood to clasp Hector's forearm like a brother. 

Given that was exactly why he'd come, Hector didn't smile back. 

His brother's smile turned to almost a smirk. "See, my love?" he said to Helen. "I was right. With a face that somber, it could be no other reason."

Helen nodded. "Of course." Her smile was nothing like a smirk, but seemed satisfied just the same. "You always are."

"I am indeed," Alexandros fluttered. A few handmaidens tittered. 

Hector stirred. "Are you coming then," he said, "or do I have to say the words?"

His brother laughed lightly. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm nesting among these lovely birds instead of out there already?" 

Hector closed his eyes and tried not to sigh. "Fine. Why?"

"Why, because I was feeling down and wanted to wallow in my sorrows," Alexandros said gayly. " _So_ much pressure, you know." A few more maidenly titters. 

Hector gave in to that sigh. His brother's teasing never failed to enrage Priam and Aeneas. And, sometimes, himself as well. But today he was too tired, too bone-achingly weary of death, for it to matter now. "In that case," he said dryly, "how about bringing your sword to a more lively place?" 

"My -- sword, is it?" Alexandros drawled. 

All the women tittered, and Helen added, hand over her mouth, "Oh my."

Hector grimaced. "Look, we need you. We need every hand that can hold a sword or spear or bow." He paused, and his brother frowned. "Or don't come -- I'm sure the Argives would be quite willing to bring the battle right to your doorstep if we don't hold them off now." 

"Ah -- so I'm essential now, is it?" Alexandros smiled, pride finally pricked. So that was it -- he wanted Hector to beg. He wanted to be _needed_. Too damn bad. 

"Everyone is," Hector said flatly. 

Alexandros went still, face more somber. More fearful. 

"Paris," Helen said, her soft voice easily heard in the still room. 

His brother's face became lively again. "Well, then -- I must join you. Pull my weight, as it were. Just as soon as get my armor on." He spun to look at his scattered gear. "I need help. Where is Timaeos? Timaeos!" he called as he hurried out of the room. Then he stuck his head back in. "Don't worry, go on ahead -- I'll reach the gate before you do. Once I decide on a thing, I do it better than anyone. Timaeos!" Then he was gone again. 

Hector blinked. He ought to care whether it was his threat or Helen's plea that got through to him, if only to make it stick next time. But for now, he was just grateful it had worked. Assuming he actually did show up. 

"Brother," Helen said from her chair, "do sit while you wait." At her sign, the handmaid beside her moved, leaving her seat free. 

He almost gave in. After all, if he could strategize with her on how to keep her wayward husband in harness -- but, no. Too dangerous. 

"Helen, no -- not now." Before she could pout, he added, "I must say goodbye to my wife." And before she could tempt him, he turned and strode from his brother's hall.

####  IV. 

They sang of their parting:

Before the dawn, while ere the sun yet slanted  
Upon the crowded tents the Greeks had planted,  
From out a postern looking towards the north  
A little band of silent men went forth  
Bearing with them a litter in which lay  
One wrapped by layered linens. To that day  
He turned a wan face, as if he could gain  
From that fresh air a little ease from pain.  
Though Helen clasped his hand with murmurs true,  
He never moved, nor made a sign he knew:  
Wracked in his blood by poison, fear and pride  
'Neath Helen's kiss and Helen's tears had died --  
His thought was of Oenone, wife once cast  
Aside who could relieve him at the last.  
Would she remember still their love? -- would prayer  
Rekindle it that she should heal him there?  
Consumed with longing pain and aching hope  
He gazed upon night-cloaked Mount Ida's slope,  
And when the shadowed litter started out  
Upon the hidden path led by their scout,  
No farewell did he mutter, not a word  
For failing Troy, for anything, was heard.  
His hand was pulled away from Helen's hold,  
Leaving her there to mourn the morning's cold.

Thus was the parting of Paris and yellow-haired Helen.

####  V. 

They sang of their parting:

\-- Thus he spoke, and he gave his child into the arms of his dear wife,  
who took him into her fragrant bosom, smiling through  
her tears; and her husband was touched with pity at the sight,  
and he stroked her with his hand and spoke to her, saying:  
"Dear wife, I pray thee, do not in any way grieve in your heart:  
no man shall send me down to Hades against my fate --  
for one's doom is the one thing no man has ever escaped  
once he is born, neither the coward nor brave man. Nay,  
go to our house and busy yourself with your tasks, with your loom  
and your distaff, and bid all your handmaids to ply their work.  
For war shall be for men -- for all men who live in Ilios,  
but most of all for me." -- Thus glorious Hector spoke and took up  
his helm with its horse-hair crest, and his dear wife went to their house,  
turning back often and weeping large tears. And soon she came  
to the well-built palace of man-slaying Hector and there she found  
her many handmaidens, and among them all she roused lamentation --  
in his own house they wept for Hector while yet he lived,  
for they believed he would never again come back from battle  
nor escape from the might and the hands of the warlike Achaeans. 

Thus was the parting of Andromache and Hector, breaker of horses.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be an _Iliad_ fic, but the starter dough provided grew in the kneading and absorbed other sources as well: part I incorporates and completes Sappho LP 44 plus steals phrases from a couple other fragments, and while part II pretends to be a tragic chorus, it borrows more Sappho; part IV owes more than I care to admit to William Morris's "The Death of Paris" in _The Earthly Parasise_. Worse, part V is not even fanfic but canon, Iliad vi.482-502 -- because in the end, Homer has the best last word of anyone.


End file.
